Spring Camp
"Can't we just skip spring camp and keep training right here?"
"Honestly, I want to do the same thing."
"Or maybe we could hold spring camp here instead…"
With our personal training period almost over, we were feeling pretty reluctant to wrap things up. And why wouldn't we? The setup was so perfect it was hard to imagine a better environment for preseason work.
I had only asked Jack to find us a training site. Lodging too, if he could manage it. Jack put together both the field and the accommodations in no time—but the scale was nothing like what I'd pictured. In a good way, of course.
The training ground itself was excellent, but the real jackpot was the lodging. I'd figured on a hotel at best. When we actually arrived, though, it turned out to be a full mansion built for athletes. More than ten rooms meant each of us could claim one and rest properly. The underground gym let us work out without ever leaving the house. On top of that we had a chef handling every meal, staff taking care of the housework, and a driver ready to ferry us to the field or into town whenever we needed. All we had to do was train while being completely pampered.
In a situation like that, of course we hated to leave. But we still had to get ready to head back. After a short rest at home we were expected to join spring camp, so three days later we left that comfortable place behind and returned to Seoul.
"…Health issues? What the hell?"
"Apparently something went wrong with his body and he stepped down on his own. He's in the hospital," Ho-min explained helpfully after I stared at the article in disbelief while we were resting back in Korea.
"That's not the point. The team's record is garbage—why didn't they just fire him instead of letting him quit?"
"Maybe that old man has dirt on the owner. Video or something."
"Wouldn't surprise me. Nothing else explains why they'd keep propping him up like that…"
"Anyway, who's going to take over as manager?"
"Who'd even want the job? That team is a lost cause no matter who walks in."
The Dragons really were a mess from top to bottom—starters, bullpen, hitters, defense, coaching staff, everything. We talked about it for a minute and then wiped it from our minds. Honestly, I couldn't have cared less who managed the Dragons.
A few days later, though:
Min Gucheol—the guy who tanked the Olympic team and quietly stepped down—had landed with the Dragons.
"…They've lost their minds."
"I told you that old man has dirt on the owner. Nothing else makes sense."
"Wow… I never thought they'd actually shove Min Gucheol into the job."
Anyone could see the previous manager had pushed his buddy into the seat. There was no other reason to suddenly hire a failed national-team skipper pushing seventy.
"Tenth place is locked in again this year."
"Heh heh heh. No kidding."
We snickered and checked the Dragons' team community. The place was pure chaos—every Dragons fan in the country seemed to have piled in, dumping every insult a baseball team could possibly receive.
"That'll be a big help to the new manager. Hmm…"
"…You psycho."
We spent the rest of our break happily watching the Dragons implode. Then the day finally arrived. We boarded a plane for the United States and spring camp.
This year's site was Arizona. Unlike last year, when we'd split the schedule between Australia and Japan, everything would happen in one place. Since we were already in the States, our foreign players joined us right away. We were the only team that had successfully re-signed all three of our foreigners for the new season. There had been talk that Japan was desperate for Marte, and whispers that Michael Len might take another shot at the majors… but despite the noise, all three re-upped quickly.
Then there were the rookies who showed up for camp.
"Hello, sir. Park Chung-ho."
"Hi there~ Jang Hak-yeon."
"Hello, senior. I'm Kim Geun-su."
A few of the more promising names from last year's draft had made the spring roster and came over to introduce themselves.
"Pfft. Look at Hyeon-bin and Chan-young playing senior. Hahaha."
I gave the rookies a casual greeting, and Hwang Chan-young and Hyeon-bin promptly hauled them off into the distance. Judging by the way they were herding them, they planned a little hazing…
"Only people who can actually pull that off get to try it. You think those two can manage?"
"True enough. Heh."
I couldn't picture those soft-hearted kids succeeding at anything of the sort. Last year Chan-young had been my roommate and driven me crazy; this year Jang Hak-yeon shared my room. At least the kid still seemed a little intimidated by me, so he didn't bother me with pointless chatter. Who knew how long that would last, but for now it was fine.
We started training on a three-days-on, one-day-off schedule. Just like last year it opened with brutal conditioning, but having done it once before made the adjustment easier than expected. About two weeks of that rolled by, and then—
"Today we're running an in-house scrimmage. Check the lineup cards and get ready."
A sudden intra-squad game. I was listed as a hitter only. The two starting pitchers were Lee Yong-hun and Hwang Chan-young. Looking at the rest of the arms scheduled to appear, most of them were young—rookies included—so the point of the scrimmage was clearly to evaluate the kids.
Bottom of the first. Lee Yong-hun worked a solid inning on the mound and quickly recorded two outs. His top velocity sat at 150 km/h; seeing him already touching 145 in mid-February meant his body was coming along fast.
"Take it easy on him."
As I stepped into the box, Ko Mandeok—mask still on—tossed me a playful warning.
"His stuff looks pretty good."
"Still, go easy."
"Not sure I can control that."
"That idiot's throwing full strength out there. Don't crush the kid's spirit—just soft-pedal it."
"Why bother?"
"Do I look like I know?"
Why was he going all-out in a scrimmage that was only supposed to check condition? After exchanging signs with Ko Mandeok, Yong-hun delivered the first pitch.
"Whoa!"
A fastball came in tight on the hands. I leaned back, but it still nicked my jersey.
"…Am I taking first?"
I asked the battery coach who was umpiring.
"Just keep going."
No free base, apparently.
"You're really doing this?"
I grumbled at Ko Mandeok this time.
"Just a missed location."
"Looked intentional to me."
"It wasn't."
Yeah, right. I could see it clear as day. The next pitch, and the one after that, kept riding in on my hands.
"What is this? Does he have a problem with me?"
"…"
And the pitch after that.
"Ball."
"…Am I walking?"
"Walk."
Four consecutive pitches jammed inside put me on first. When I reached the bag, the captain who was playing defense tapped my rear with his glove.
"Looks like Yong-hun's got a little extra adrenaline. Heh."
"Yeah, no kidding."
"It's the competition—cut him some slack."
"Competition?"
"Hyeon-bin's been climbing the ladder. Yong-hun's been working harder lately because of it."
"Ah…"
That explained why his body had come around so fast. And the fact that our Hyeon-bin was already threatening a rotation spot… that felt pretty good.
Yong-hun struck out Shane, batting cleanup, then roared as he left the mound. The celebration was so over-the-top you'd have thought he'd forgotten this was only a scrimmage.
Both starters worked through the second inning without allowing a run. Yong-hun had to navigate traffic after giving up consecutive hits; Chan-young retired everyone cleanly. Then Hyeon-bin took the mound.
"Stuff is filthy!"
He'd polished the sinker with Jo Sangjun during personal training and clearly had it locked in. Combining that new pitch with his already excellent slider, he handled hitters with ease—plus a fastball that had ticked up just a hair from last season.
"Clean work~"
Yong-hun had every reason to feel the pressure.
My second at-bat came against Kim Geun-su. He was a pure underhander whose release point was so low his hand nearly scraped the dirt.
"Stri~ke!"
I took the first pitch, a low outside offering.
"How's it look?"
Ko Mandeok asked as he tossed the ball back.
"Not great."
"Right?"
"Yeah. Pretty tame."
"Take another one."
I did as he said and watched again, bat still on my shoulder. This time a curveball broke harmlessly outside.
"Ball."
It was so far off the plate I couldn't have swung even if I'd wanted to—Ko Mandeok's advice or not.
"This really isn't it."
"Haa…"
"Want me to take one more?"
"No. Just hit."
"Why?"
"Nothing left."
"…Nothing?"
"He's got nothing to throw."
"Huh? I saw him working a slider and changeup in practice."
"Not ready yet."
"…"
Crack!
"Geez… when I say hit it, you don't have to hit it like that."
I turned on a straight pitch down the middle and sent it a mile. Watching the ball disappear into the distance, Kim Geun-su's face crumpled like he was about to cry.
"Gotta raise them tough."
"Shut up and get in the dugout."
Even for a rookie, Kim Geun-su's outing had been disappointing. On the other side, Jang Hak-yeon was a different story.
"Stri~ke! Out!"
A heavy fastball punched out Kim Tae-seong.
"What did he hit?"
"148 km/h."
"Wow!"
"Definitely good. If he can just locate the off-speed stuff a little better, he'll be fine."
The pitching coach was watching Jang Hak-yeon with pure satisfaction.
We hadn't been playing for a win, but my side came out on top anyway. The two who really stood out were Hyeon-bin and Jang Hak-yeon; both looked like they'd found real confidence, and they showed it again a few days later in another practice game.
Then, a few more days after that:
"There he is."
"Where? Ohhh~~"
"He's here? For real?"
"Whoa, he actually showed up. Look at that body—hit him and the ball's gonna shatter."
Four days before camp ended, we were supposed to run one more intra-squad scrimmage. Somehow a final exhibition game materialized instead—against the San Diego Padres of Major League Baseball, of all teams. And the starter for that game…
"Kang Hajin. Go get 'em."
…was me.